


Matchmaker Wilson

by TalkMarvelToMe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky's Knife Skills, Cooking Lessons, Dum-E Saves The Day, First Kiss, M/M, Matchmaker Sam Wilson, Oblivious Clint Barton, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Sam Can't Cook, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkMarvelToMe/pseuds/TalkMarvelToMe
Summary: Bucky signs himself and Steve up for a couples' cooking class. Steve regretfully must cancel. Sam saves the day...and lets his hidden talent as matchmaker reveal as a certain cyborg's feelings unfold.





	1. Mexican

“You know, not only did I volunteer to go with you to this couples’ cooking thing - last minute, might I add - but, I’m also driving your ungrateful ass and I have _yet_ to hear any form of appreciation.” Sam waited ten minutes of silent driving before vehemently uttering. He was proud of that evident show of patience. 

And what did he receive from his passenger? 

Radio silence. 

“ _Nothing_?” Sam chastised. 

“Sorry,” Bucky began in feigned apology, “didn’t think any of that actually warranted a response.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam mumbled before lowering his voice to continue his venting, “you can bet your ass I’m never sayin’ yes the next time Steve asks for a favor. Puppy dog eyes be damned.”

Bucky gave a light hum in agreement. 

Sam noted this. The man of few words elected to use a valued syllable on agreeing with one of Sam’s vague mumbles. 

“So, I take it, even Cap’s best friend isn’t exempt from those pitiful puppy dog eyes?”

“Never have been,” Bucky softly added, smiling as he continued quiet enough for Sam to barely hear, “always works though.” 

Then, Bucky recalled this was Sam he was speaking to. Sam, the man who refused one of Bucky’s most simplistic requests. You know, like moving a seat up on a damn seventeen hour car ride in the smallest vehicle Steve could have possibly chosen. There are hard feelings. Still. 

“You missed your turn,” Bucky lied. Just because he could. 

Sam immediately made to rectify the non existent mistake.

*****

“It’s nice to see you two wonderful couples this evening,” the rather chipper petite chef at the front of the kitchen began.

“Friends,” Sam amended, gesturing between himself and Bucky. 

“Acquaintances,” Bucky further amended. “Barely.”

“Okay, uh,” the chef temporarily lost her perk, desperately trying to assess the curveball the two men at the front left table threw her way. “Well, I hope we can all agree on the fact that we are here to learn how to make some amazing meals, yes?”

The couple to Sam and Bucky’s right - a man and woman in their mid twenties - eagerly nodded, seemingly ignorant of the tension between the two men. The same two men who simply stared forward, electing to forgo any form of response to the chef’s query.

“So, without further ado,” the young chef clapped her hands together, instantly regaining her chipper mood, “I need each coupl- er, duo, to decide who is going to be responsible for the fun part - chopping, slicing, and dicing!”

Once again ignoring the overly joyous aura of the chef the young couple was downright soaking up, Sam and Bucky silently made their decision. By _make their decision_ , I mean, Bucky made an executive decision without consulting his partner by firmly yanking the stocked knife block to his side of the station. 

“You, of all people should _not_ get the _fun_ part. Is fun even in your vocabulary, you brood?” Sam, turning to face the front continued his persistent rambling, “nah, just ‘cause you can go all hibachi with the fighting knives, all of a sudden means your the obvious choice for the slicin’.”

“That is _precisely_ why I should be in charge of the sharps.”

Sam was smart. 

Sam _didn’t_ challenge the man with the expert knowledge of how to use each knife in the surprisingly well stocked knife block. 

Sam will live to see another day. 

Be smart like Sam.

*****

“Don’t start chopping off my limbs if I’m like totally off base here, but-”

“Sounds like you probably shouldn’t be askin’.” 

Without valid reason aside from for show, Bucky effortlessly yet masterfully filleted the remaining steak, tossing it gracelessly into Sam’s sizzling veggie filled pan with a dull plop.

Taking a chance, Sam let his curiosity get the best of him. He was a man with a hunch. A hunch he’s been wallowing over for a while and the opportunity to resolve this was _now_. They were in public after all. Bucky wouldn’t do anything harmful per se.

Right?

“Are you and Steve... _together_ together?” 

Bucky landed Sam with his murder glare (patent pending). 

“I mean,” Sam immediately began in an attempt to rectify his dangerous position regarding this conversation, yet not knowing entirely what he was going to say. “You know, this is for _couples_. Like romantically involved people. Which is totally acceptable nowadays, like between a dude and another dude which I’m sure you’re aware of and...please don’t hurt me,” Sam quickly added upon realizing he was rambling. 

For the first time that night, Bucky didn’t have a witty retort prepared. 

“No.”

Simplicity. Of course. Brevity is the definition of Barnes.

“So,” Sam dared to venture further given no limbs had been eradicated or bruises been acquired...yet, “why did you sign the two of you up for a _couples_ cooking class, then? I’m assuming they have singles classes?”

“Wanted to learn to cook,” Bucky succinctly replied, not actually answering the question in the slightest. “Don’t burn the onions.”

Mindlessly shoving the veggies and meats around the pan, noting the onions were nowhere near burning - nice attempt at a diversion, Barnes - Sam continued his game of twenty questions. 

“With him, though,” Sam finished Bucky’s lack-of-an-answer, still trying to get to the bottom of his suspicion. “You wanted to learn to cook... _with_ him?”

Bucky gave the oh so eloquent response of slicing a lime in half with more effort than was warranted before passing the fruit to Sam.

Alright, Sam can work with that. He’s used to reading into Bucky’s enigmatic body language. Omission of an answer in Barnes-speak is practically a yes. Here goes nothing. _You only live once,_ Sam told himself, attempting to psych himself up. He’d need confidence for this next question, especially since it would likely induce a rather negative response.

“Do you _want_ to be with him?” Sam took a deep breath, preparing for some sort of rebuttal, as he squeezed a lime half into the searing pan. 

After a pause punctuated by a pointed breath, Bucky replied, “you were supposed to add the lime after you remove the pan from the heat.”

Sam could work with this newfound factoid - albeit garnered via interpretation - but, he could _totally_ work with it.

Barnes wants to be with Rogers.

*****

“I think we did good,” Sam spoke with a surprisingly pleasant tone that was rather impressive given his mouth was overstuffed with perfectly seasoned (depending on your take on the lime discrepancy) fajitas. He decided to further experiment with the temporary bout of camaraderie and extend a closed fist.

Bucky didn’t partake in the fist bump. 

“Could you at least eat with your mouth closed?”

Sam retracted the proffered hand. “You’re not doing much better,” Sam childishly retorted before pointing to the side of Bucky’s face, “you’ve got...sauce. Uh, in your hair.”

“Not like I’m trying to impress you,” Bucky equally childishly spat back before quickly running a napkin over the lock of hair in question. 

“True,” Sam conceded, attempting to refrain from laughter at his pending joke, “I’m not your Steve.”

Bucky stole Sam’s last fajita.

Sam didn’t argue. 

Baby steps.


	2. Italian

“So, I’ve been thinking-”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bucky readily quipped. 

“How original,” Sam deadpanned before reorienting himself. “I’ve been thinking about what we discussed last week-”

“Unfortunately, you were talking quite a bit last week,” Buck jested as he began warming the skillet per the chef’s instructions. He was on stove duty this week. Something about switching with your partner for reasons Sam kept speaking over. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

Sam raised one eyebrow up in an evident expression that he was unamused by the detected levels of sass. 

Let it be known that Bucky Barnes is a little shit. 

But, Sam can play this game, too. 

“When we had that one sided discussion about you liking Steve.”

And, the murder glare is back! Now it's a party.

“Look,” Sam began with a placating tone, “I think it’s great. Honest. Because...well, I have good reason to believe Steve feels the same way.”

And, the murder glare is gone! Hallelujah.

“I’m not sayin’ he’s told me out-right; but, while we were on the hunt for tall, armed, and broody - that’s you, by the way - he talked...a lot.” 

Sam paused, realizing that he had Bucky’s full attention. That alone was intimidating; but, it was another thing he could work with because it meant Bucky _cared_. He _cared_ about Steve’s view. Sam’s getting some great intel - albeit, via interpretation - but, intel nonetheless. Nat would be proud.

“I feel confident in saying your feelings would be reciprocated,” Sam concluded with a nod as he refocused himself by snagging a knife from the knife block for the onions.

“That’s the wrong knife,” Bucky eyeballed the serrated bread knife in Sam’s hand as if it personally offended him. 

Sam paused as Bucky reached over and plucked an eight inch chef’s knife from the block before twirling the weapon - correction: food preparation utensil - and proffering the object handle forward. 

Sam nodded in silent thanks before taking the new knife and continuing. 

Progress.

*****

“She said to _chop_ the tomatoes, not _decimate_ or whatever the hell it is you’re doing over there,” Bucky gestured to Sam’s cutting board with his sauteed-onion-covered wooden spoon.

“It all gets made into sauce, it won’t make a difference,” Sam retorted. 

“With that wonderful logic, why don’t we just pulverize all this up in the blender,” Bucky began, exaggeratedly shrugging his shoulders, continuing with utter sarcasm, “‘cause after all it’s just gonna end up in our stomachs.”

“Smartass,” Sam lamely shot back. 

“Dimwit.”

*****

“So,” Bucky began, startling Sam from his failed attempts at dicing the herbs. “How would...someone confirm if their friend, _best_ friend, likes them in a way that’s more than...well, as friends?”

Sam desperately tried to rein in his smile. He really did, honest. But, it was truly a difficult feat. At least he ended with a subtle grin as opposed to a full on beam.

“Well, one could - hypothetically, of course - plan an event for, say, I dunno-” Sam shrugged as he waved the knife around (making both Bucky and the petite chef cringe) as he tried to respond without giving away that he had thought about this. In depth. _Great_ depth. “-that best friend’s birthday with their favorite foods and drinks and invite their favorite people. Then, at the end of it, make some dramatic declaration of your - or _this hypothetical person’s_ \- feelings?”

“You’ve thought about this,” Bucky stated as a matter of fact as he put the pasta into the boiling water before shoving around the nearly completed meat sauce in the pan.

Sam paused. 

Should he come clean? Lying to Bucky is like lying to Nat: one doesn’t just simply get away with it. Ever.

“Maybe.”

And, the murder glare is back. 

“Okay, fine,” Sam readily confessed. “I’ve thought about it. Since his birthday’s in two weeks, you could totally plan it like a Fourth of July party - we would all pitch in to actually make it a surprise birthday party. It’ll be perfect because next week we’ll be making homemade jalapeno cheddar sliders and fries and whatever other fattening American food the chef picked which Steve would _totally_ go for since _you_ made it. Then, at the end, you do some elaborate I-love-you speech.”

“I never said I love him,” Bucky mumbled. 

Sam pinned Bucky down with another dose of his unamused glare. 

“That obvious?”

“Yep,” Sam replied, popping the p. 

“Okay,” Bucky began, evidently still not totally on board. “One flaw in your grand plan-” Bucky pointedly ignored Sam’s quick show of bafflement. “-repeating the meal me and him learned the week before? Lame.”

“That’s assuming he doesn’t miss the next class like he has the first two,” Sam began, evidently scheming. 

“But, it was just dumb luck that he had a mission the first week then a last minute meeting come up this week. Short of the world ending, he won’t miss another. He feels guilty enough as is.”

“He may not _miss_ one; but, what if the class is-” grinning ear to ear, Sam raised his hands to add the requisite air quotes “-cancelled?” 

Bucky opened his mouth to retort, paused, snapped his mouth shut, then nodded thoughtfully. 

“You’re sauce is smoking,” Sam deadpanned. 

“Oh, shit,” Bucky immediately moved the skillet away from the heat upon realizing Sam wasn’t messing with him. 

“Smooth, Barnes.”

“Asswipe.”

“Limpdick.”

Neither man was known for his eloquent rebuttals.


	3. American

Already in sync, with Bucky currently dicing the jalapenos and - as Sam finished cooking - the bacon, the two men were in full party planning mode. 

“No, Barnes, there is literally nothing else for you to do aside from prepare whatever it is you’re gonna say to him,” Sam reiterated for the umpteenth time. “Jar.”

Bucky held the requested jar labeled “grease” with his metal hand for Sam to dump the still warm bacon run off. Both men ignored the glare from the chef elicited by not waiting for the liquid to cool. _Rules were made for breaking_ , Bucky had told Sam the first time that night they received the glare. 

“Sounds ridiculous, but I dunno what to say,” Bucky huffed out as he set the quarter full jar aside. “Fries,” he called out, passing the bowl of raw potato wedges to Sam. 

Snagging the bowl and slowly adding them to the deep fryer, Sam replied. “Well, for starters you gotta tell the man how you feel. And none of this discreet crap that leaves room for misinterpretation-”

“Sliders,” Bucky interjected, passing the first of the raw patties as he formed the small circles from the bowl of ground beef mixture. 

Situating the patty on the far side of the stove top grill, Sam continued his explanation without a hitch. “None of your damn riddles - which we all know you’re good at. Steve won’t be able to figure it out. He’ll doubt he’s understanding you correctly,” he elaborated as Bucky placed the second slider next to the first. “He’ll assume he’s projecting, being too hopeful, or some other senseless rationale.”

Bucky slammed the third patty down next to the second, creating a crack down the center of the raw meat. 

“Damn, what’d it do to you?”

“All the ground beef is getting stuck between the plates,” Bucky groaned, holding up his metal hand. Sure enough, pink bits were littered between the plates adjacent to the joints of his fingers with an occasional jalapeno or chunk of shredded cheese interspersed. 

Sam began to smirk, desperately trying to contain laughter. 

“Wilson, I will give you one guess as to where this bowl of ground beef will wind up if you make _any_ joke about meat in my hand,” Bucky sternly jabbed as he furiously washed his hands at the sink at their station. 

Bucky wasn’t able to conceal his smile as he shook his head in amusement. 

Sam erupted into laughter. 

The meat stayed in the bowl.

*****

“So, the plans’re all set? Food. Invites,” Sam tallied off his mental checklist. “Confessional words?” Sam swiftly dodged a fry launched his way yet still waited for Bucky’s nod of affirmation before landing the final jab, “cute outfit?” Sam was actually prepared to dodge a whole array of food items. But, they never came.

Bucky shook his head and groaned before manfully shoving a handful of fries into his mouth as if that action would compensate for the utterly out of character concern about his wardrobe.

“Aw hell no, I’m not helping you with what to wear” Sam held up his hands, “that’s Nat’s forte.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“But, don’t tell her I said that,” Sam quickly amended. “She’ll be on my ass about sexism for a week minimum.”

“Yeah, chauvinist,” Bucky jested with feigned offense.

“Jackass.”


	4. Party

“Buck, these are amazing,” Steve grumbled out through a super soldier sized bite. Bucky really shouldn't have found the sight quite so endearing. Alas, he did. “Where'd you learn to make these?”

Bucky hummed as he took a sip of his beer (some summer blonde ale Nat thought was hysterically ironic for Steve’s party) before swallowing to answer. “That cooking class - this was on the American night menu.”

“I thought that class was cancelled?”

Shit. 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky fumbled, genuinely considering shoving the six remaining steak fries in his mouth as a diversion. After all, the only other alternatives were lie - which he never got away with in front of Steve - or come clean which...well…

“It wasn't cancelled,” Bucky blurted before he could change his mind about the whole _honesty is the best policy_ thing. Mama Rogers would be proud. 

“Oh, but, I thought you said it was, or-” 

Shit. More shit. Steve brought out the puppy dog eyes. He's hurt. Bucky needs to remedy this because in no universe should Steve Rogers ever be hurt by Bucky Barnes. 

“Sam and I wanted to go together.”

And even bigger shit because that couldn't have come out more wrong if he tried. 

“No, I mean, we wanted more time to plan this party for you,” Bucky tried. 

“And I really appreciate it, Buck,” Steve spoke with his best personification of aww shucks. “I'm glad you two are, uh, getting along so well.”

And, that is not where Bucky meant to lead this conversation. Raking his fingers through his hair, Bucky glanced over Steve’s shoulder to where Sam and Nat were doing a horrendous job of discreet eavesdropping by blatantly staring. 

Sam brought the back of one hand down into his other palm with a resounding clap while mouthing something along the lines of _just say it, asshole_. Nat simply raised an eyebrow in evident disappointment. Clint smiled and waved, utterly oblivious. 

“You okay, Buck?”

“No,” Bucky blurted out before he lost this bout of courage. “Nervous.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “About what?”

“Telling you something,” Bucky audibly swallowed. “Confessing...something.”

“Confessing…” Steve prompted. 

This was it. All the planning comes down to this. All the crumpled up balls of paper with countless edits of this speech lay in his bedroom trash. All filled with words suddenly forgotten aside from three. 

“I love you,” Bucky breathlessly spat out. “Steve, I have since I pulled your ass out of the back alley skirmish in the fall of 1925-”

“-the McAllen boys with the dog-”

“-Steve, shut your trap for two goddamn seconds. I'm talking about my emotions-”

“-which you never do,” Steve unhelpfully added.

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky chastised, partly because the blonde wouldn’t shut it and partly because he couldn’t understand why Steve was so calm when he was quite the opposite. 

Steve snapped his mouth shut with an audible clang of his teeth, seeming to finally comprehend the gravity of the situation. 

“Thank you,” Bucky took a deep breath, pausing as he recalled Sam’s adamacy about being explicitly clear. No room for misinterpretation. Did he leave room for misinterpretation? Steve sure as hell wasn’t acting like Bucky just professed his life long love for the man. Maybe...

“Steve, I’m-” one more deep breath, “I'm _in_ love with you. And, with all the shit we've been through, I'm not losing another chance at telling you.”

The moment Steve fully understood the weight of the words Bucky spoke was evident by the way the blond visibly lit up.

However, Bucky’s nervous rambling continued. “So, I'm telling you now and I'm desperately hoping you feel the same way because I had to talk to the whole team about how I feel about you just to set this party up and that’d really suck if I had to explain if you didn’t. And I really don’t want to deal with Stark, ‘cause he’s already sour that I went through three of his cheese graters - long story. Anyway...” 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky quickly scanned Steve’s face for any revealing expressions, only detecting excitement, however, he didn’t want to assume. “Please say something.”

If Steve Rogers is known for one thing, it's that he doesn't follow orders. 

Does Steve say something like Bucky asked?

Hell no. 

He does one better though. After all, actions speak louder than words. 

Bucky’s breath was effectively stolen by Steve as their lips joined after nearly a century of pining. Red, white, and blue fireworks illuminated the sky - not that Steve nor Bucky actually saw the colors. Stark and Wilson wolf whistled. Wanda snapped photos. Natasha was left to explain to Clint why this was totally expected. 

“I’m in love you, too,” Steve breathlessly spoke, lips still against Bucky’s, neither man's smile diminishing. 

“About damn time,” Sam mumbled. 

“You're burning the dessert,” Bucky deadpanned to Sam without shifting his gaze from priority number one - Steve. 

“Ah, shit,” could be heard as Sam darted toward the dark smoke, one of Stark’s robots was already dousing the grill with a powdered flame retardant. 

Bucky couldn't help but smile as he shook his head, enjoying the fact that Steve let himself be engulfed by Bucky’s embrace despite the blond’s debatably larger physique. 

This was Bucky’s life now. 

And, he wouldn't change a damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this little, fluffy drabble made y'all smile! It's why I post the random shenanigans my brain constructs!!

**Author's Note:**

> There are four [short] chapters that will be posted on consecutive days.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!!


End file.
